


Lost Boys

by merelyafigment, visionofblue (merelyafigment)



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Crack, I make my own fun, I'm dealing with a lot of stress, M/M, Self-Indulgent, by making Alvarez a vampire, contains no smut sadly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/merelyafigment, https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/visionofblue
Summary: Pre-Oz Miguel Alvarez and Ryan O'Reily cross paths on an incredibly strange night in the city. Crack!fic!Look, one of them is a vampire and neither of them is in Oz yet. They're still essentially themselves, though. (This fic has nothing to do with the movie "Lost Boys", I just had to title it that. It was unavoidable.)
Relationships: Miguel Alvarez/Ryan O'Reily
Comments: 9
Kudos: 8





	Lost Boys

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** Oz was full of bad language, homophobic, misogynistic, and racist slurs and attitudes. Terrible attitudes towards many things really, plus violence, drugs use, other bad deeds, etc. They were an offensive bunch, and any of my Oz fic could contain those offensive things. This fic also contains blood, licking, and mild violence. (And me wishing Ryan would use a word other than "fag" so much, but character-wise, unfortunately that fit best.)
> 
>  **Extra Warning: Crack!fic.** Extremely insane and dumb crack fic. Vampire AU. Not to be taken seriously.
> 
>  **Author's Apology:** I'm sorry (not sorry) this exists. Back before Halloween, I read the far better ["Strangers in the Night"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27215923), a wonderful B/K zombie apocalypse fic by [vanillalime](/users/vanillalime), which has nothing to do with this, and was neither silly nor dumb (like this is). But immediately afterwards, out of nowhere my brain said: "I want some vampire Alvarez". I tried to finish this by Halloween, so I'd have an excuse for posting something so silly, but I didn't. Posting it now? Probably a mistake. But life is rough, and I needed a break. Maybe someone else does, too.
> 
>  **Notes:** Set approximately around the time of Cyril's accident, but right before O'Reily's deadly joy ride. Miguel never sliced up a little old man's face, because that happened during the daytime, and. Well. 
> 
> Also, I do not know why I set this in a subway when I know nothing about such things. Just assume in the magical world where vampires exist, the subway is different, and also mysteriously empty, and trains run whenever and however I want them to? That part, I'm actually sorry for.

Ow. 

The pain in Ryan's head was sort of familiar, along with the taste in his mouth. The last vapors of booze, and maybe the tang of the girl from earlier on his tongue. (Sure, maybe that last bit was just pleasantly imagined sense memory.) It was like a hangover, but maybe a fun new kind because he still felt drunk and high. Like really fucking faded. But his head was also surrounded by pain, everywhere. Did he have a fucking wicked crick in his neck or what? 

Cold unyielding wooden bench beneath him. Ryan recognized that particular discomfort, shitty wooden arm rests digging into him, dividing the bench so he couldn't stretch out his long frame without putting his legs over them. Which was fine, other than how stiff his neck was from resting his head on one. He'd woken up after a bender that way before. Smell of piss and -- yep, the subway. He cracked his eyes open, which also hurt, but less than everything else, and squinted into the shitty underground fluorescents. Were they always flickering, or was it just his head? His dizzy ass decided the best course of action would be to stay where he was for a moment. 

He was disoriented, though. And Ryan really preferred to stay well-fucking-orientated. That urge didn't always mix great with his other urges, though. Like now. He scoped out his immediate area, trying not to move too much in the process. 

Damn, he had company. Ryan slid up into more of a sitting position, groaning and stretching as he moved. He kept an eye on the one guy on the platform with him, while he noted the signage to place himself. 

A guy who looked younger than him was hanging around. He leaned against the wall a bit aways from Ryan, but he was looking over and close enough to talk. Probably Latino, dark hair kept close and tidy. The sleeves being ripped off his blue t-shirt helpfully revealed tattoos here and there on his arms, along with one on the back of his hand. A blue bandana seemed to be hanging out of the back pocket of slightly loose dark grey-ish pants, which met worn Converse sneaks. He was fit, too. Not like a hulking steroid-case, but his arms were defined enough to not be scrawny, suggesting he was probably ripped under that shirt. Gangbanger. It was Ryan's first guess. Sure, tats were getting popular, so maybe he was just trying to be a trendy tough guy, or he was in a fucking band or something. But Ryan considered the most dangerous assumption first, because that was just smart. Given the area they were in, and how late it had to be, it made logical sense. Plus, that was a lot of blue and no other colors. 

"You look lost, man." The guy was lurking a little, but he mostly just sounded bored in his observation. 

Ryan did not look fucking lost. He knew where he was, the subway signs merely confirmed it, and he remembered that much. 

The insistent dull throbbing took more solid form as Ryan gained his senses back. It turned out the pain wasn't focused in his head, not really. That still felt buzzed. The floating fuzziness may be wrapped everywhere like a familiar blanket, but the pain? That was centered on his neck. Ryan pressed a hand to the source and felt wetness. Shit. What had he been sleeping in? He cast a quick eye to the bench (nothing there) as he brought his fingers up for appraisal. 

Red. 

Blood. 

SHIT. 

Ryan reached towards the piece tucked into the back of his waistband. He'd had it in his jacket when he was charming the girl earlier, in case it made her skittish, but leaving her place he'd put it back within easier reach. All that? He remembered, as he felt its reassurance against his palm, metal warmed a bit from his skin but still colder than he was. He didn't pull it out yet, keeping it hidden, but he was seconds from it. 

"You did this." Ryan narrowed his gaze and fucking focused, adrenaline joining everything else in his bloodstream and making everything jump into more clarity. Slightly more, anyway. He was a chaotic mix of hyper-focused and hazily sluggish that sort of sucked. But he'd manage. 

Bridget Street didn't have any problems with anyone who ran around here that Ryan knew of, or he wouldn't have fucking ventured here, no matter how hot and willing the chick was. 

Gangbanger didn't move anything other than one hand in a lazy gesture towards him. "Did what? Gave you a nasty hickey? Gotta watch those biters, hermano." 

"How did you know I was--" He was in this part of town following pussy, sure. She wasn't here now, though. He'd slipped out of her apartment while she snored. It was a real cute snore and everything, but he didn't want her staring at him questioning her life choices, or worse -- wanting a future, when she woke up. 

"Only reason a mick like you would be around here in the middle of the fucking night is to cause trouble, or you know, _cause trouble._ " The guy's eyebrows and expression were being fairly suggestive with that last part. Yeah, he knew why Ryan was stumbling around at this hour, and that it wasn't a business encroachment on his territory. Good. The guy still seemed relaxed, not planning a move. 

Still, Ryan gripped his gun more firmly now, his accusation matching the steel he held out of sight. "No way. This wasn't my date. You cut me or something. Drugged me." 

He was flinging out guesses, watching for a reaction more than anything. He wasn't really getting one, though. Guy wasn't responding to the aggression like someone who had a problem with him. Had Ryan stumbled or cut himself somehow? Fuck, it had better not have been a fucking tunnel rat gnawing on him while he slept. 

"Pretty sure you drugged yourself there, man." Gangbanger idly pointed out, a grin hidden in his voice despite never settling on his face. 

Okay, point. He still wasn't making threatening moves, just hanging around like he was fucking chatting and waiting for the train. 

"Cut you?" The guy pondered out loud, still mildly poking holes in Ryan's assumptions. "Like I got bored and I'm wandering the fuck around taking tiny slices outta sleeping white boys? _Why?_ We got a beef nobody told me about or something?" 

Another good point, delivered with joyful mocking while being phrased like a bewildered rhetorical question. It was almost annoying. 

"Maybe you've got a fetish." Ryan countered sarcastically, while easing his tone away from confrontation like his hand eased off his piece. But he didn't relax. He fleetingly wished he could, but then he never got to do that, did he? Those wishes were stupid -- the ones for peace and relaxation for one fucking second. Might as well have been wishing for puppies from Santa, but they were harder to ignore when he was pliant and wasted. 

The guy snorted, still watching him with less intensity than he was being watched. He had a low raspy voice, and the sudden huff of laughter was just as rough. Genuine, though. 

"I'm on my way outta here any way, hermano." Ryan said, sort of friendly almost. Just in case he was in this guy's territory, best to give him a little heads up that Ryan was leaving. 

"Figured as much." 

Well, this fucker was just incredibly helpful and informative when it came to explaining his presence. Maybe this _wasn't_ his neighborhood and he was headed out, too. Didn't seem like it, though. Ryan's head might be hazy, but he could still feel his gut. 

He was thirsty, and tired, and not floating quite so high off the ground anymore, but not planted firmly enough to feel steady. And oh yeah, his fucking neck still throbbed. Ryan kept the other man in his sight line as he focused back on his fingers, rubbing them together as the blood dried. 

That's when he caught it. 

The guy lost some of his cool for a split second, without quite moving from his slouch against the wall. A hint of tension barely shifted his body, but it was really all in his face. Intense watchfulness flashed over his sharp features, dark eyes focused entirely on Ryan. 

Fuck. 

He was not waiting on a train, and Ryan's neck was not bleeding from rat bites. 

He was standing there because of Ryan. 

Thankfully, muscle memory was a real fucking thing, and the motion of pulling his piece was ingrained in Ryan's body, especially after his shooting incident. 

"Maybe catch the next one, pal." Ryan's menace cut through his fog with ease, adrenaline spiking again as he trained the gun on the guy. Things might be a bit unsteady in his head, but his hand was thankfully not. 

"You better not get blood on this fucking shirt. I don't need bullet holes ruining my shit." The guy said gruffly, annoyed, as he pushed himself off the wall. 

Too fast. 

Ryan must've been too fucked up, because the guy was gone before he could've even squeezed the trigger. 

The gun was gone and dark eyes were inches from his, as his subway stalker leaned down right in front of him. 

Holding his fucking gun idly in his hands, not pointed at anything. 

Shit. 

"Why the fuck do you want me dead?" Ryan was left with only one move -- his words. Plus, he was just genuinely perplexed. When Ortolani shot him, it at least made sense. He did have a tendency to piss off the mooks. They weren't playing nice with the Irish lately. 

This though? Ryan honestly had no idea who he'd pissed off around here, unless it was just some random gang initiation thing. He still didn't even know why he had blood on his neck, since he couldn't fucking see it. It wasn't gushing or anything. 

"Dead?" He saw the man's eyebrow raise up close and personal. "I'm trying to be, like _nice_ , and make sure your wasted ass gets home, pendejo." 

He stepped back, standing up straight as he examined Ryan's gun. "Nice. Ain't getting it back until we go our separate ways, though. Meant it about the fucking bullet holes. I only got so many shirts." 

"What?" Fuck, he needed to sober up. The adrenaline was unfortunately just making him tense and jumpy. "Whatever it is, we can work this out..." Ryan was going to try a whole cajoling thing first. Probably his best shot with no fucking information and no fucking gun. 

This never would have happened if Cyril-- 

This shouldn't be happening. 

"Yep. Easy." The guy agreed, and shockingly he wasn't being a sarcastic asshole -- he seemed to _mean_ it. "I'm gonna make sure your ass gets on and off your train without falling onto the tracks, and then we're going to wave goodbye to each other." 

"Sounds good to me." Ryan easily agreed, eyeing the gun that was now being tucked away in the back of the guy's waistband. 

Yeah, that was going to be hard to get, especially since he seemed so much faster. Ryan had seriously not even seen him move off the wall. 

But the guy was back to acting oddly casual. Like this was all no skin off his dick. 

Maybe he just really didn't want Ryan on his block and he could just skedaddle or some shit. 

The guy had put space between them, but he didn't go back to leaning. He stood in front of the bench facing Ryan, a few feet away from him, the empty tracks at his back. His posture was relaxed again, though. 

"Hey, man -- my mistake. Didn't know I wasn't welcome here." Ryan matched the younger man's casual calm, throwing in just a hint of real apology. Like it was no skin off him, either. They were both still watching each other closely, though. 

The guy kind of lifted one shoulder but didn't contribute anything else. 

"Neck hurts like a bitch, by the way." Ryan kept up the 'it's all cool here' act while he went fishing. It took all his focus. Couldn't let the slightly dulled world shift under his feet right now. Had to ignore it. Fucking focus. He was in this alone, and he had to get his ass out of it alone. Ryan shouldn't be here alone. He shouldn't have -- fuck. Forget it. It was what it was. 

"What'd you do? Or was it really the fucking rats?" Ryan smiled slightly, like it was a joke between buddies. 

They weren't buddies. 

It wasn't the fat ass rats. 

And Ryan really wanted to know what this motherfucker had done to him. 

Luck of the fucking Irish -- that made the guy crack a little again, gaze shifting to stare into him sharp as a blade, his tongue darting over his lips. 

Why was this cocksucker licking his lips and staring at Ryan's-- 

Weight. 

Pressing down on him, firm and solid and right on his fucking lap. 

_The guy was in his fucking lap_ , straddling him with his legs on either side of Ryan's thighs, hands wrapped like vises around Ryan's biceps. 

What the fuck?! 

Didn't even see him move. 

"Stop." The low voice right by his ear sounded like rubble and the darkness in the tunnel. 

Ryan froze, breathing heavy, and _why did he have to be dizzy right now?_

"Lo siento, pero detente." The rough mumble in his ear was followed by a fucking tongue swiping over his neck. 

The weird thing was, even as the touch highlighted the lingering pain, the coolness on the wound was almost soothing. 

Fuck it. Ryan shoved with all his strength. Unsteady world underneath him or not, he was going down swinging. 

Except the guy didn't move a fucking hair. It was like trying to push away a brick wall. 

Trapped. He was trapped. His breath was still heavy and desperate, and everything was starting to spin, and no fucking way was Ryan O'Reily going out being licked by some lunatic gangbanger riding a wave of PCP strength. 

"Get the fuck off of me motherfucker!" Words, his last resort again. 

And the guy actually _listened._ Didn't really see _that_ coming. 

Ryan still didn't even see him move. He was just pressing down, all around Ryan, and then -- there was nothing but air and space as he was gone. 

He was standing a few feet away again, panting softly, lips reddened. 

Blood? 

Ryan's blood. 

And those? Those were fucking sharp canine teeth. Ryan was pretty sure he would've noticed those before. 

"Sorry, man. Look, I'm sorry. Just calm the fuck down." The guy was holding his arms out in front of him, like he was desperate for the fucking calming gesture to work or something.

For the first time, Ryan's fucking freak companion didn't look calm himself, his expression as wracked as his scrambling words. 

Couldn't run. Asshole had Ryan's piece still. Mr. Licky would probably just shoot him in the back. Ryan's body was tense in a way he rarely was. These were extreme circumstances, and it had wrung his usual looseness out of him. He was sitting up straight, and ready to move. Even as the other guy was backing off, hands still held up trying to be placating or something. 

"Give me back my gun and fucking go." Ryan's voice sounded like death. (His? This guy's?) No way would the guy do it, but he had to try at least. "Then I'll be fucking calm." 

_You fucking freak._

"Shit. I'm going to have to say goodbye to this shirt, ain't I?" The guy sighed with a shake of his head, seemingly talking partially to himself, but he stayed away. He focused back fully on Ryan, eyes wide and trying to be reassuring. The fucker failed at that. "Look, your neck -- I ain't going to hurt you again." 

"Sure, okay." Ryan said, not bothering to hide how much he wasn't buying this bullshit. "What the fuck did you do to me?" Ryan enunciated every word slowly and clearly. 

Freaky Asshole merely stared for a second, but he sort of seemed apologetic still once he spoke. "I bit you a little." 

Was Ryan _this_ high? Had he taken some bad shit and gone crazy? 

"You bit me a little." Ryan repeated, in a deadpan that sort of emphasized the _dead_. "Fucking why?!" That part may have come out strangled by anger and confusion. It didn't matter. Guy was probably just batshit, but Ryan just had to know. Had to see the whole puzzle. Because at the moment? He only had like five pieces of it, and they'd been chewed on by a dog. It made no sense. He should not be fucked up enough for it to make this little sense. 

_Now_ his actual head was starting to hurt, making it a lovely counterpoint to his neck. Which he could feel the fucking saliva cooling and drying on, by the way. Awesome. If he got his gun back? He was going to shoot this motherfucker. 

"You know how vampires and shit aren't real?" The guy was trying for calm still, but he couldn't hide his tension, the slight wildness in his eyes and movements. 

Vampires? Clearly, Ryan wasn't the only one fucked up. This guy had _definitely_ gotten into a bad batch of something, though. Ryan watched him warily, letting him spill his crazy and trying to make enough sense of it to get the fuck out of this. 

"Yeah, well, it turns out? That's bullshit." The guy said, like he was serious. Serious, and a bit twitchy. All that casual stillness of earlier was gone. He just kept staring at Ryan, though, big dark eyes almost pleading to be believed. "I'm gonna let you go though, okay? No worries." 

Ryan didn't hold back his bitterly dark laugh at that. "Sure, man. Everything's fucking peachy." 

"I can show you." The guy reached for the gun, Ryan tensing immediately at the movement, but he abruptly stopped like he thought better of it. "If you shoot me in here, it's gonna be loud as hell. And really fucking painful." He seemed to be mostly talking to himself again, working things out in his head. "I got a better idea."

Really? Because it seemed to Ryan like all of this asshole's insane ideas sucked.

He smoothly pulled out a blade with practiced ease, flipping it open. 

Okay, screw this. This? Ryan would just have to work with. He surged off the bench towards the other man, intending to clip him enough to barrel him over with body weight and surprise, before veering off and away. 

As soon as he started moving that fast though, the world lurched and started to spin. 

Fuck. He was going to die stuck and bleeding out in a subway. While this motherfucker probably licked him some more. 

He tried to at least fall on top of the guy, but he just sort of _flicked_ Ryan right the fuck off, with one hand easy-peasy like he was an annoyance. Ryan fucking flew and collapsed backwards, tailbone and every other fucking bone that hit the bench protesting. 

_"Si-it._ " The motherfucker was almost laughing at him as he calmly drew out the word, like he was instructing an impatient dog. He'd lost his frantic edges, gaining back his confidence and ease once he'd apparently decided on a course of action. It made him more of an irritating dick, really. 

Ryan pulled himself up to glare at the guy, who at least wasn't making any further moves. There wasn't anything else he could do at the moment. He had no back up, and this guy had all the advantages. 

"This ain't for you. It's for me -- demonstration purposes." Another smooth movement, and the guy was pulling up his shirt with his free hand. 

Ryan had been correct in some of his assumptions at least -- the guy was cut, muscles sharply defined but not bulky. He was still way fucking stronger than he should've been. 

He drew the knife lightly over his abdomen like it was nothing, only letting the barest hiss escape from between lips pressed tightly closed while he kept steady eye contact with Ryan. 

Crazy motherfucker really thought he was a vampire. 

He bled, but only a bit, so the cut must've been shallow. A long thin interrupted line of red blossomed over smooth bronze skin. 

He sort of looked displeased when he looked down at it. "Shit. Didn't think this through. Gonna get blood on my shirt anyway." 

That's what he was concerned about? 

"Yo, come here." The guy tried to make it sound more like an invitation than an order, but Ryan couldn't care fucking less at this point about him being polite. 

Maybe he could get the knife away from him. 

Ryan stood, more slowly this time, and the ground under his feet behaved better. Ryan continued his slow movement towards this lunatic, keeping his expression free of his thoughts. Let this asshole think things were copacetic. 

"See, man?" The guy looked down again, continuing to look mildly annoyed. "Well, guess you can't, 'cause of the blood and all." 

He moved to tuck the knife away, and Ryan took his opportunity to strike, grabbing it from nerveless fingers and turning it immediately on its owner. 

"Shit!" The guy exclaimed as Ryan pushed into the guy's stomach, to the hilt. His hand slid down the handle a bit, but he wasn't going to stop. 

"Hey, asshole!" The guy sounded more pissed off than injured, shoving harder this time, sending Ryan straight to the ground, landing in a sprawl on his ass. 

Fuck. 

The guy was muttering angrily in Spanish as he pulled the knife out of his stomach. The motherfucker _hadn't even let go of his shirt_ , still holding it up to avoid the blood. 

That... that wasn't enough blood. Ryan had maybe seen somebody gut-stuck before, and that? That looked like an adorable nick compared to somebody bleeding out. 

The guy was shaking his head, making a disgusted noise at the small amount of blood dribbling onto his pants. "¡Joder! " 

He managed to wipe the blade on the bandana in his back pocket without looking before flicking it closed and tucking it back away one-handed, still holding his shirt away from the blood. 

And it all happened very fast. So fast, Ryan's brain could only just process it, as the guy proceeded to pull out the bandana to wipe the blood off his stomach. 

When he was done, he finally looked at where Ryan was shifting into a crouch on the ground in front of him. 

"I guess I deserved that." He conceded with a shrug, sounding a weird mix of irritated and amused. "Still a dick move, pendejo." He shook a finger at Ryan in admonishment. 

Ryan was mostly staring at his stomach, though. His smooth, unblemished stomach, except for the lightest tinge of smeared red that the bandana hadn't cleaned entirely away. It was a mere trace, probably already dry. 

And there wasn't a mark. 

There had been blood. He'd seen it. 

What the fuck? 

"Are you a fucking magician?! What the hell?" Ryan looked up to see a small wry grin on the asshole's face. "Why are you carrying a trick knife?" 

"Not a trick. You stabbed my ass. Believe me now, motherfucker?" The lunatic's irritation sounded more weary than it had. 

Fangs. 

The fangs were back. Then they were gone. 

Ryan had lost his fucking mind. Too much booze and too many pills, and now his brains were dribbling out of his ears. 

Who spiked pills with LSD?! Acid was the easiest explanation for the fucking hallucination, and yet that hadn't been what Ryan had taken. 

Then the freak did that annoying fucking there-one-minute, gone-the-next thing, coming to crouch right in front of Ryan. His sharp features set seriously, eyes locked right on Ryan's, making him look all earnest or some shit. 

Jesus. 

"Yeah, it's a lot. I know. Vampires are fucking real. Who knew?" He shrugged, half-grin back on his face and a lightness in big dark eyes. 

None of this made any fucking sense, but he also had no evidence proving it was bullshit. And the mountain of evidence forming that this asshole lunatic was a fucking vampire, and that's just the way the world worked now, was getting too big to ignore. 

Maybe? Maybe Ryan was just having a pink elephant moment and none of this was real. Felt real, though. This? This appeared to be the situation. The new lay of the land. Ryan would have to fucking roll with it. It's what he always did. See the way things worked, start moving them to his advantage. Time to fucking go with it until the world shifted under his feet again. 

Strong hands wrapped around Ryan's forearm to guide him up, and he went with that for the moment as well. Fighting hadn't worked out great so far, time to reassess. 

"Let's get your ass back on the bench before you fall over or pass the fuck out." The raspy, bemused voice was close and quiet. "I mean, it'd be easier for me if you passed out, but it would just piss you the fuck off again, I'm guessing." 

Ryan continued to follow as steadily as he could, sitting heavily on the bench. The guy kept talking as he backed off again, standing a few feet in front of him, sounding like he was talking Ryan through something. "I was pretty fucking shocked, too." 

For the first time tonight, Ryan felt like throwing up, stomach heaving and swirling as the rest of his world froze. 

This shit was insane. Insane, and _entirely out of his control._ He had absolutely no handle on this situation. Ryan hated that. Hated it more than learning that apparently, the fucking immortal bloodsuckers that horror fiends liked and spooky chicks got wet for were _real._

This wasn't the first time in the past few days that shit had spun out of Ryan's constant control. This wasn't the worst instance, but it was the one immediately in front of him at the moment. (Not waiting for him in a hospital.) 

If he were being honest with himself through the aching haze in his head, he'd lost fucking control the second that damn doctor had given him the news that... well, it wasn't fucking good. And it was his fault. He'd gotten himself here by chasing any feeling other than the guilt and loss rattling around inside him, only to have his view of the world fucking demolished. Again. Honestly... this wasn't as bad as all those machines hooked up to a brother whose eyes hadn't opened yet. 

This was just new information he hadn't had before, when he looked at it that way. A dangerous secret he now knew, that most fuckers were oblivious about. 

He needed to adjust. Now. He couldn't navigate and spin things to his favor if he was busy fucking stuttering and gawking like a clueless fuckwad over the whole world being different than he'd thought. It was different. Deal with it. Process the new insane information for use. 

Vampires? Fucking real. 

One had really fucking bitten him, _fed on him_. Like he was a Big Mac. 

But this particular vampire was talking to him and hanging around. Which you didn't generally do with your food, unless you were five years old playing with your nuggets and riding the short bus, or you were in the looney bin. 

This guy did seem a little nuts, but not that flavor, and he didn't seem too stupid either. 

He'd left Ryan alive. 

Watched over him. 

Let Ryan _stab him_ while only seeming a little bent out of shape about it. 

Kept staring. 

_Shared his secret without being asked, really._

Vampires were real, and here was one acting friendly with him. Interested in him. 

Ryan could work with this. Work _him._

"You're gonna kill me." Ryan kept his tone calm and measured, if a bit pessimistic. Really, he was feeling the guy out. 

"Nah, not the plan. Gonna let you go -- I meant it." The guy had calmed back down some, and he was doing that trying to be reassuring thing again, but more nonchalantly this time. Like everything would be fine. 

Ryan stared him down. 

The guy exhaled, not backing down. "Still talking, aren't you? I'm not gonna kill you." 

Ryan trained his hardest, sharpest expression on him. He was letting the guy do the talking still, though. It was the best way to get a handle on where the crazy asshole's head was at. 

He caved a little with the shrug of a shoulder, but he wasn't acting squirrelly or like he was lying. "Honest? Was maybe considering it at first. But you tasted _good,_ and I just didn't want to. So I didn't. Now I'm waiting for the train with your ass to make sure nobody else eats you." Expressive eyes leveled a hard look at Ryan this time. "So, stop being such a dick." 

This was as much confirmation as Ryan was getting, clearly. And the guy did appear to be telling the truth, shoring that impression up by admitting he actually had thought about offing Ryan, instead of pretending he was harmless. He walked over to the wall again, leaning his side against it to keep turned towards Ryan. Back to casually waiting for the train with him, apparently. 

"Why me?" First things first -- gather information. Finding out why Ryan was the unlucky fuck in the middle of this shit would be a nice start. 

"Saw you stumbling out of the subway a long fucking while ago with a hot chick. Caught my eye." The guy spoke freely, hands gesturing occasionally with his words. Like he was more than willing to chat about how fucking insane the world was. "Mostly ignored you and let your drunk asses toddle on by, though. Figured I might run into just you leaving. Didn't seem like a breakfast in the morning kinda hook-up, you know? It'd be fucking rude to eat a guy _before_ he got laid." 

"Is she--?" Ryan remembered leaving her sleeping, but his brain was clearly not its reliable old self at the moment. He also had no clue what this guy had been doing while Ryan was stumbling to the station, worn out, loose-limbed and slow-witted. 

"Unless _you_ killed her ass, she's snug in a bed somewhere. I mean, I'm assuming." He explained, smirk playing on his lips, still lazily leaning on the wall. "Maybe you're a serial killer or something. I last saw you hours ago, but I didn't smell blood on you before I bit you. So, I'm guessing she's passed the fuck out and sore back at her place. I picked you off leaving town." 

"Why not her?" Ryan gathered all the information he could, and honestly, he was curious. She'd been hot, and if he was going to go around snacking on people, she would've been on the menu before an Irish gangbanger. Didn't know how this guy worked, though, and that was something Ryan needed to figure out. 

He scoffed, making a bit of a judgmental face at Ryan, like she was definitely off the menu as far as he was concerned. "She lives around here, pendejo. I've seen her. Sweet girl. You're not from here, man. Besides, you smelled good." 

Ah, made sense. Ryan was an outsider, clearly rough around the edges himself. This guy must've had some sort of code instead of just picking off whomever with sadistic glee. 

That last part made less sense, so Ryan sought clarification. "Smelled good?" 

Guy got like a full-on mischievous glow at this line of thought. Super. "Like fucking sex. You know, like fucking _fucking_." He emphasized the repeated word, tongue curling briefly behind his teeth. 

Ryan let out a slow exhale as more of the picture clicked into place. "Oh Christ. I got nabbed by a vampire fag?" 

"Knock it the fuck off before I change my plans to leave you breathing, cutre." The guy warned mildly, but he still seemed to be enjoying himself. "I didn't _nab_ you. Your ass is right where I found you." 

A flash of memory hit Ryan, bending and hazy the closer he tried to examine it. He was maybe used to those types of hard to pin down memories, after a rough night or a really fun one. It was mostly sensations, rather than a useful informative solid memory. 

_Now familiar weight. On top of him as he laid on his back, pressing close and curling around him. Not smaller and softer and sweetly whimpering -- solid, heavier, and chilled. Damp mouth on his neck, and a gravelly deep groan. The real helpless, needy kind of noise that Ryan had never personally heard from a voice that deep and male._

_Pain._

Don't forget the fucking pain, which was still throbbing on the side of his neck. 

But it seemed... it wasn't fucking. It was feeding. But it had sort of felt like -- well, it wouldn't actually be like eating a burger, would it? He didn't remember roving hands or anything, and his clothes were as put together as they'd been when he'd left the girl. "If you think I haven't noticed you not correcting me on the fag thing--" 

"Not a maricon." It was less vehement denial and more of another shrug. Like he was sort of beyond worrying about how such shit looked in neighborhoods like theirs. Ryan may have felt like shit and been annoyingly fuzzy, but up close some of those unfinished tats did look gang-related. At least the large black rose outline on the back of his hand did, anyway. Plus, just the way the guy spoke and carried himself, like he came from the same kind of life Ryan did. "At least I fucking wasn't when I was alive. Dunno now. I mean, I did leave your ass alive because I liked the way you smelled. Liked your taste."

"Jesus." Ryan's head thudded lightly back against the tiled wall. It hurt a bit, but that was really the least of his concerns at this moment. 

At least the fucker was pointedly staying a few feet away still. 

"Don't think he's gonna show up." Ryan's vampire pal replied, amusement clear in his voice now. Bloodsucker and a smart ass, this guy. 

"Not just that, though." The amusement left the other man as his hooded gaze grew lazily contemplative, as if he was figuring something out or pondering the universe or something. His hand rested on his stomach, still for a moment. "The way you clung to me -- like wrapped around me. I got close, had to, to like bite your fucking neck and all -- but you? You were pulling me closer." His gaze focused entirely on Ryan, heavy and strong, dark eyes catching some sort of light from somewhere, almost stealing its teasing glittering. That rumbling voice of his really did wonders for the whole speech, too, dropping lower than ever. "You're real fucking warm." 

Okay, so this was one of the reasons his vampire pal was hanging around, wanting him alive and everything. The fucker _wanted_ him. And not just because he was apparently delicious. 

Ryan had to admit, this was also something he could work with. But it was dangerous. The guy could move in a blink and couldn't be fought off. But he also had backed off, generally, when Ryan had told him to. Had to be careful how he played it. 

"Fuck you. No way am I gonna let a horny bloodsucker near my ass. I'm no fag, pal." His voice hurt his own head, as he aired his concerns with just enough disapproval and buried menace. Playing like he was overwhelmed, but he wasn't going to just roll over. He took a chance and closed his eyes briefly, head resting back on the tile again. But he was listening, gauging this cocksucker's reaction. 

Ryan opened his eyes again after just a long blink, and the guy hadn't moved a muscle. He was being careful to back up his words with actions, Ryan figured. 

"You keep saying all this shit, but I'm over here now -- not touching you. I'm just talking." He pointed out like he was being reasonable. "Starting to wonder what's going on in your imagination, though." There was that twitch of a smirk again. 

"You were on top of me." Ryan remembered that much, and his gaze was steel with the accusation. 

The guy rolled his eyes. "Because your ass was asleep and lying all over the fucking bench. Had to climb on top of you, to like get to your neck long enough to eat. Was just more comfortable. I wasn't a dog humping your leg. Only bit you, man." 

"How is that better?!" 

The guy's gaze flicked to the ground for a second, seeming less cocky and sure for a moment, before he slipped right back into it like a second skin. "Well, might've rubbed on you a bit, actually. Didn't plan on it. Only happened after you pulled me closer." 

Ryan couldn't tell if he was being fucked with or not. His attacker (turned guardian, fucking evidently) had one hell of a teasing half-grinning swaggering thing he did, so it was hard to tell if the rubbing thing was true. 

Ryan filed it away, because there was nothing he could fucking do about it at the moment. "You _licked_ me." 

"Yeah, didn't mean to do that either." He met Ryan's eyes again, seeming almost apologetic finally. Or at least enough to get serious for a moment. "Just -- you kept talking about it. There was still blood, man!" It sort of sounded like he was defensively explaining himself, while also trying to justify it in his own head. Ryan merely watched him go, learning about the guy in the process. "Which you were like rubbing your fingers on. I -- I told you, you tasted good. I licked you clean, though. Should be fine now. Won't do it no more. I didn't bite you again or nothing." He argued his case, apparently pleased with himself for that. "Was just-- the blood was already there. Why waste it?" 

It was true. He may have climbed into Ryan's lap, drawn by the remaining blood, but he hadn't sunk those fangs back into him. So, he had _some_ self-control. It was just a little fucking frayed. 

Ryan's cut off snort of amusement was still bitter. "Yeah, wouldn't want to be wasteful." 

"Look, I was hungry, and you're walking around smelling like a fucking T-bone. Then you passed the fuck out. I was just gonna take some, then leave you alive--" He still appeared to be telling the truth. And he kept explaining himself, which meant he probably did sort of feel at least a little bad about it. 

"You said you were thinking about killing me." Ryan corrected darkly. Didn't seem to be the case now, or Ryan would be busy figuring out if he could push the guy onto the tracks once a train came. Well, he was still sort of keeping that thought tucked in the back of his mind, but it didn't appear like it would be necessary. 

The vampire with possibly a tiny amount of remorse shrugged one shoulder, like he was admitting something unpleasant. "For a second. Decided against it pretty fast. Honest." He held Ryan's gaze steadily, like Ryan believing it actually mattered or something. "Even after I frisked you and found out you were carrying. I was gonna leave you be, just make sure you got home. I mean, you were fucked up and I did take your blood so I wanted to make sure you actually made it. Then you started waking up, and you know, you stabbed me, motherfucker." His accusatory bitterness at the end was tempered by a sort of acceptance. 

"I had a very good fucking reason!" It was Ryan's turn to defend himself, and really, he fucking won this argument. This motherfucker could walk off a knife in the gut, but Ryan's neck still hurt. Plus, with his high fading suspiciously fast, the tired haziness still lingered. Both were probably due to the blood loss. Bloodsucker had probably stolen some of his buzz right out of his veins, though it didn't seem to be affecting him. 

"I know." The gangbanging vampire conceded, sounding resigned. "That's the reason you're still breathing after stabbing me with my own fucking blade, man." 

Ryan kept an eye on the guy as he moved closer, crossing in front of him, but only to settle down on the bench on the other side of Ryan. Not too close, still keeping that distance like he meant what he said and wanted to show it. 

He was looking ahead, at the tracks, like they were just chilling after a mild argument over who should pick up the check or something. He was close enough that Ryan knew he smelled decent above the usual fun piss-filled subway smells. Male but sweatlessly clean, just hints of smoke and his skin. 

The guy had kept pointing out how he could smell Ryan now. 

"You smell good." Ryan paused, as something tried to filter through. Why did this pendejo smell good? "Did you-- am I--" 

The guy smirked, following his thoughts effortlessly. "I didn't turn your ass. That's your human nose. I just smell good, baby. I, you know, fucking bathe. Don't do it with a fucking whiskey bottle like you. I think you just find me refreshing 'cause of how much you smell like a bar right now." 

"I smell good enough to fucking eat, apparently." Ryan pointed out bitterly. 

"Things smell different now." Was the only information the guy, thing, whatever gave. 

Seemed like just a young tough guy on the surface. Like any number of guys Ryan had done business with or crossed paths with over the years. 

There was something different about him, though. And it wasn't just the creature of the night thing. Speaking of... 

"I'm not gonna call you Mr. Creature Of The Night." Ryan declared harshly, wanting at least a name to call this complicated cocksucker. "You fucking bit me, you owe me a name." 

"You're sort of a creature of the night, too, you know." The biter mused as he gestured around them. "It being night and all. Your ass seems right at home." 

"Cute. I think our appetites are different." 

"Miguel." Hint of a grin playing at the corner of his mouth again, dark eyes steady, Miguel introduced himself a little more properly than with straddling and licking. "My name, _Ryan_ , is Miguel." 

It fit, with the fluid way he said it and the way he moved. 

Also -- "How the fuck do you know my name?" He hadn't said it, had he? Granted, his brain wasn't functioning at its usual lightspeed (he could usually multi-task like a motherfucker), but he'd been pretty fucking focused on this insane-ass encounter since he'd woken up. 

Miguel broke into a full smart ass grin finally, moving the slender fingers of one outstretched hand in a graceful little wiggling gesture. Like he was implying he had psychic powers, or did magic tricks, or something. 

Miguel's grin left his face as he looked up and away before Ryan heard anything. "That's probably your train, man." 

It took a moment before Ryan heard it. Also had good hearing to go with his fucked up pervert sense of smell, apparently. 

As far as Ryan could tell, the odds were about 70/30 this bloodsucker was going to get on the train with him. For one thing, he seemed serious about Ryan making it home safely, not that Ryan would've given a fuck in Miguel's shoes. Plus, there was the whole thing where Miguel seemed real fond of him. Or at least his fucking smell, warmth, and blood. And yeah, Ryan won his bet as Miguel followed him right through the sliding door. 

"Why the hell are you following me?" Ryan asked anyway, like he didn't know. He kept his eyes on Miguel as he took a seat. 

Miguel merely shrugged again, which was apparently the way he was moving through life at the moment. "Told you. Making sure your ass doesn't get eaten by anything else. I mean, now you smell like fucking _and_ blood, so you seem downright delicious." 

"So you're a kindly vampire with a conscious? That's a fucking gang tat. I don't think you got dangerous _after_ you died." Ryan observed, but he was mainly just continuing to prod and gather information. 

Miguel's low chuckle made another appearance right before he dropped down right beside Ryan. "Nah, you're right. Usually not a drunk white boy safety escort. But what else am I going to do? It's the middle of the night. Shit's mostly locked down on my block, except the corners and the same two places I always went. I spent enough time hanging around doing nothing there when I was alive. I can do nothing anywhere I want to now." 

He managed to make it sound both very freeing, and very full of like fucking melancholy or something. Ryan was starting to peg where all the shrugging, all the casual fuck-it go with the flow attitude, was coming from. 

"Dead of night or not, the ne'er do wells are out in my neck of the woods, too. You're going to stand out, boyo." Ryan offered the information, more than he warned. 

"So? Can't touch me. Not anymore. Besides, my ass stands alone wherever I go." No more grins, or smirks, or light catching his eyes. Miguel stated it like he was resigned to something. 

Oh Jesus. A _lonely_ horny fag vampire. 

"Don't you have a coven or something?" 

He felt that rumbling caught laughter this time, right against his side. Ryan was fucking tired, and he listed as they barreled through the crazy fucking night, right into a solid hard body. Not warm. Miguel still had Ryan's gun, and that may have been a big part of the reason Ryan was letting himself rest on the guy. Get close. Get his guard down. 

"Ain't that witches, hermano?" The freak just sounded contemplative again, before he sort of eyeballed Ryan from the side. "You sure you want to be laying all over me? You seem kind of twitchy about the maricon thing." 

Ryan looked up, because yeah, the guy was shorter than him but Ryan was collapsed against his unwaveringly sturdy side, pretty much poured there like an empty bottle. "You aren't touching me." 

He wasn't, at all. Just wasn't pushing him off either. 

"Pretty sure you're too fucked out and wasted to be much fun." Miguel noted, sliding back to acting a little amused. Like that's what he preferred to be. "Could you even get it up? I mean, you _really_ smell like fucking. Wasn't kidding. I think you're done for the night." 

Ryan laughed, because he was clearly dreaming, or maybe he wasn't coming back down from his high as fast as he thought. His shake joined the other man's. 

"Nah, ain't got a bloodsucking gang." Miguel returned to Ryan's previous question. "The ones that made me like this? Left my ass. I didn't handle it too good, you know?" Ryan felt the shrug against his side again. It felt heavy, where Miguel's words stayed purposefully matter of fact. "Waking up dead. Went a little bugs. Don't think they wanted to deal with me, and the whole neighborhood was starting to notice them setting up camp in that abandoned building and all, so whoosh--" The guy gestured grandly with an outstretched arm, but Ryan stayed where he was. "They got out of dodge." 

"They flew?" Ryan's eyes widened, he knew they did. But seriously, how the fuck was he supposed to know what vampires were actually capable of? 

"No, idiota. They drove. Just, you know, left without packing." Another graceful movement followed, along with Ryan's gaze, as the man turned his head to show the other side of his face. The back of his curled fingers brushed along a long thin scar running from the corner of his mouth, up along his cheek. "Did this when I figured out what I was. Wondering if I was cast out by God or something. Think it freaked 'em out. Didn't understand it." 

Neither did Ryan, and he had a feeling he wouldn't have even if his brain had been working perfectly, but-- "Why do you even have a scar? Is the healing thing bullshit too? Seemed to work fucking fine earlier." 

"Nope. That's real. Been stuck and shot since --" Miguel shot him another brief slightly accusatory look, but moved right past it. "--No marks." 

Miguel gave up the facts easily. Probably not a whole hell of a lot people he could discuss this with that would just absorb the information without freaking the fuck out, Ryan realized. Ryan was done freaking out. 

"Just this, and my other one, didn't heal up the same." Miguel continued, turning thoughtful again. Maybe even he wasn't sure of how everything worked. "Maybe it's because I dipped the blade in Holy Water? Or maybe 'cause I did it to myself?" His tone dropped down, like his gaze falling on his hands in his lap, and Ryan couldn't see those eyes anymore. "Maybe 'cause I didn't want it to." 

Fan-fucking-tastic. A _brooding_ gay vampire. Who was cold, when Ryan's weary brain kept telling him he should be warm against Ryan's side. He let out a sigh, eyes closing for a second with it, before he decided he didn't want to indulge this brooding crap at the moment. That is not why Ryan careened off into the night. He'd been trying to outrun the dark thoughtful shit of his own. "No wonder you're alone. You're total crap for cuddling. You're cold." 

Another huff of laughter that held no joy, but at least Ryan felt it against him again. "Yep. All the time, baby. You're warm, though." 

Ah. That's why he wasn't shoving Ryan off. 

That, and the clearly fucking wanting Ryan, to rub up against and snack on. 

There was a chill in the air. Ryan was dressed appropriately in one of his black leather jackets. This cocksucker was not appropriate in any way. His blue t-shirt didn't even have sleeves. 

"No wonder you're cold, dumbfuck. Wear a jacket." 

Miguel snorted. "Think it's the whole thing where I died, man. Ain't my outfit. Layers don't help much." He kept eye contact with Ryan as he softly shook his head, bemused. "If I'm going to be cold, might as well just be cold." 

"At least try to blend in." Ryan stood by his criticism, because useful for actual heat retention or not -- eventually someone was going to notice the guy was underdressed and never shivering. On the other hand, it would explain his lack of body heat if they got close enough to touch him. Could be they'd just think he needed to put on a damn jacket before he froze. 

"Could take yours." Miguel posited, but he didn't seem invested in the idea. He stayed slouched back in his seat, unmoving. 

"If you were going to, you would've rolled me when I was passed out." Ryan pointed out reasonably. "Should you be telling me any of this if you aren't going to kill me? Seems like poor planning." 

Ryan only brought it up to see if Miguel would drop any more information about what was going on behind those dark eyes. Any more hints about why he _was_ talking so much. Although, Ryan was getting the picture pretty fast regardless, and he also was mostly sure bringing it up wouldn't cause Miguel to suddenly decide he had to bury Ryan and his secrets. Miguel didn't seem stupid enough to not have already considered what he was doing, spilling his story to someone. 

"You even gonna remember this?" Miguel asked, making another decent point. Ryan knew he would, actually, as hazy and high sped farther away into just sore exhaustion. Wasn't going to share that little tidbit with his vampire pal, though. "So what if you do? You're wasted. I could be a hallucination." 

Miguel paused for a bit after that, staring in front of them and not at Ryan. It was long enough for Ryan notice something, pressed against him like he was and all -- Miguel wasn't breathing. 

"If your wasted ass does remember me, you could always come find me. I haven't left my neighborhood yet. Probably should soon, though." 

Ryan couldn't tell if Miguel was actually realizing the error on his part, and planning to fucking _whoosh_ now that Ryan knew his haunt... or if it was an invitation to find him later, merely with a warning that he wouldn't be there forever. It mostly seemed like the latter, surprisingly. 

He could occasionally be hard to read. Ryan was sobering up, but the man's expression almost turned inwards with his thoughts sometimes. 

The ride hit a silent stretch, and Ryan gave the questions a break before Miguel got twitchy and suspicious over his information gathering. Nobody got on their car at the next stop, which Ryan realized wasn't his after a moment. Miguel didn't react, so he must've known that, too. Probably could make out the shitty squawking announcement better with his vampire ears and all. 

Wasn't too long before Miguel was staring at Ryan again. Watching, in that hungry way. 

"Don't even think about getting your fucking fangs in me again." Ryan sounded as calmly deadly as he could. Even though he probably wasn't very deadly where this motherfucker was concerned. No wood nearby. Maybe the guy wasn't afraid of guns, but a head shot would probably at least slow him down. Ryan figured he had half a chance of actually getting his gun away from the guy, now that Ryan had lulled him into being used to his closeness. 

"Wasn't thinking about biting you." Miguel explained, slightly conciliatory. Maybe he could tell Ryan was trying to figure out how to waste him. His next words sounded like a confession. "Was thinking about kissing you." 

"Well stop fucking thinking that, too." Ryan warned automatically, not showing any hint of being thrown. He wasn't, really. Didn't take a fucking genius, or someone entirely sober, to figure out this guy might be more than one kind of hungry. 

"You did stab me..." Miguel trailed off with a shrug, leading him, like that somehow meant Ryan owed him a kiss. 

A fucking kiss. That's what he wanted? After the bloodsucking, and let's not forget the fucking lap licking -- to like make out on the train or something? 

"So I owe you a handjob or something? Not the way that works, pal." Ryan kept talking, his tone one of firm finality, because Miguel seemed to listen to that, for whatever reason. And it sort of needed to be made clear -- he was not fucking doing _that_. 

Miguel's had full lips for a guy. Ryan may have been forced to notice when he bit the lower one instinctively at Ryan's words. _Bit his bottom lip and stared again._ All intensity and hunger. 

"Yeah, maybe don't say shit like that." Miguel finally spoke, his voice somehow an octave lower when it was pretty raspy to start with. 

Okay. Miguel definitely _wanted_ more than just some tongue, now that Ryan had unhelpfully and unintentionally put an idea in his head, but he also must've known that a fucking kiss was his best bet since anything else was never fucking happening. 

"Back off." Ryan felt the need to really make that _nothing else is going to fucking happen, asshole_ point hit home by repeating it, though. Just in case. He may have seen the wisdom in keeping on a motherfucking vampire's good side, but he didn't peddle his ass for favors. And he didn't have anything to do with fucking dicks that weren't his own. 

Miguel held up his hands. "Still not doing dick to you, hermano. Just. Yeah, don't think I care who I fuck any more." He rolled his eyes at Ryan's hard look, showing that he wasn't seriously thinking of trying anything. "Doesn't mean I'm gonna grab your ass. Won't touch you." 

"Except to bite me." Ryan countered, because Miguel acting all innocent, trustworthy, and blameless might seem fucking cute to the man, but the facts still stood. 

"Hey, you a vegetarian? No?" Miguel retorted, not backing down but coloring his defense with a small amount of bemusement. "Then let it the fuck go, or start apologizing to the cows. I was hungry, and _you're fine_." 

"I'm not a fucking cow." Ryan glared, from his still slumped position. He knew it was pretty fucking effective, regardless. 

"Nope. You're definitely not, baby." Miguel agreed easily, before turning thoughtful again. "Still wanna kiss you. Want to taste your mouth."

"You've tasted enough of me, asshole." Ryan's voice was hard, keeping a distance between them. But that distance? Was completely fucking metaphorical. Ryan had to stay close and loose, relaxed in his cold hard seat, against his slightly less cold and hard companion. Just in case he did need to make a play for his gun. 

It also meant Miguel was right there, those rapt eyes close enough to see how deep and longing they looked. 

"Being stabbed still hurts like a bitch, you know. I mean, it hurts _less_ , but it ain't like being licked by kittens." Miguel was mounting an argument on his own behalf, Ryan realized. Trying to list reasons Ryan should give in. "Just let me try -- por favor...you're kind of fucking hot, baby." 

Ryan couldn't tell if Miguel was talking about his body temp again, or just how very handsome he was. Given the way he kept staring, probably? Both. 

Yeah, it probably wouldn't hurt to have a vampire in his pocket. He was fucking high (a little bit, anyway, which he found himself clinging to, instead of trying to sober up again), and fucking tired, and the blood loss... Ryan had been chasing oblivion and losing control all night. And every time his brain chimed in with why he should fucking stop that and get a grip, he thought of hospital smells and marble hitting bone. So, maybe not going to start thinking too much just yet. Sure, the high was wearing off, but he didn't fucking want it to, he realized. Just once. He could do this just once. Miguel -- fuck, he did have a nice mouth. 

He could've ripped Ryan in half. Could've killed him. 

But no -- he was staring with that deep gaze and just fucking _begging_. 

It was also still a good chance to let the man get even looser around him, further upping the chances of Ryan succeeding in grabbing his piece back if he needed. Plus, it would keep him wanting Ryan alive, and maybe inclined to keep listening to him, or help him. It would get him close, in a couple of very helpful ways. 

"Just that, no more." He got the words out before Miguel moved fast again. But not so fast Ryan couldn't follow it, the press of -- yes, a mouth fuller and softer than he would've expected. But still different, as strong and hungry as he'd looked. 

Not warm, either, but warmer than the rest of him. Lips parted, and Ryan slipped right in. Habit, maybe. Or a reaction to the stroke of fingers over the back of his neck where Miguel's hand had automatically curled around him. 

His mouth was warmer, yeah, like he was pulling the heat from Ryan's with the kiss. 

Miguel's voice was dissolving into a groan right in Ryan's mouth now. 

So fucking hungry. 

The tiny slicing pain didn't even have a chance to register before it was stolen away, changed into something more by Miguel's mouth. Sore and sharp were turned into a jolt straight down to his gut, making him shudder as Miguel sucked on his bottom lip. His blood, probably. But Miguel was still fucking kissing him. Ryan wasn't warm now, but hot, the kind that shook and pressed closer, even as he was held against all that cold strength. 

Miguel pulled away, kept going until he was standing up. Ryan thought you could only miss heat when it withdrew, but it turned out you could miss the cold, too. Miguel drew Ryan's eyes towards him, just like he'd drawn Ryan's body in the same direction. All Ryan's focus was on the other man. His small surprised grin, his long fingers rubbing lightly across his own mouth, licked by a darting tongue. Like he was catching the last traces of Ryan. Again, probably his fucking blood. The movement stopped, the train and Miguel's. (Miguel did it more fluidly.) 

"This is your stop." Miguel just loped right out of the sliding doors, only looking back to make sure Ryan was getting up and following him okay. 

"Yeah, don't think I give two shits about the guy thing anymore." Miguel observed, watching Ryan join him on the platform. Held in dark eyes, catching the light again for just a moment, before Miguel turned away to casually thump down onto a bench. He tapped out an idle beat on the old wood. Good thing he was probably immune to whatever fucking germs and diseases were on it. (Ryan had been drunk. He didn't sit on them when he was sober.) 

"Doesn't seem like it." Ryan was dazed from everything really. He felt numb. Or too alive and breakable maybe. 

(Lost.) 

Fuck that. Ryan wasn't the lost one. He knew exactly where he was. Always. 

He pushed past the thoughts of how shitty his circumstances usually were. He made the best of them. Spun that shit into gold and pussy. 

Always. 

Fuck, he was tired. Rubbing his hand over his face didn't wake him up, or clear things up, or do anything useful. So he went back to watching his companion, scoping his angles and how they would affect Ryan. 

It mostly looked like he was taking himself out of the picture, awaiting another train to speed him back out into the night, away from Ryan's world. He also hadn't stayed on the train, or gotten right back on before it left, though. He was staying until Ryan left, apparently.

"So you're just going to sit here and wait for the next fucking train?" Ryan regarded the man in disbelief. He wasn't a fucking weirdo just because he was undead, Ryan was figuring out. He didn't seem to care... about anything. Like he was just floating. Lost, but indifferent to it. 

He had just followed Ryan the fuck home on a whim, after all. 

Miguel shrugged again, eyes closing as he leaned his head back against the wall that was even colder and harder than he was. (Ryan knew that. He'd been pressed against both recently, and Miguel was far less uncomfortable.) "What else am I gonna do? Told you -- can't fly. Can't drive. Left my baby back home." 

Ryan _was_ still a little bit wasted it seemed, because it took him a second to realize the man wasn't like, talking about a little vampire kid or something. Of course-- "You call your fucking car your baby, don't you?" Ryan scoffed, but Miguel didn't seem to take offense. His eyes were open and regarding Ryan again, but he was still slouched lazily on the bench. "Are you trying to get me to invite you home? No fucking way. You'd eat my wife." 

A wicked grin flashed across Miguel's face, lighting up his eyes again with hunger. That seemed like the strictly more human kind of hunger, though. 

"Guess I still like women just fine. You know, given where my mind just went and all." Miguel's casual remark somehow carried a lot of dirty intent. 

Yep. That had just been lust again. Miguel wasn't thinking about killing Shannon, just eating her out in the more traditional way. Ryan knew that smile. 

"You're not banging her either, asshole." Ryan threatened, still running on instinct. Even though Ryan wasn't a fighter, and he figured even getting his gun back would not help him given the casual way the guy had mentioned getting shot earlier. And he'd felt how strong the guy was. How used he was to being strong even when his muscles had been human, in the graceful way he moved. Ryan couldn't take him. He knew this. Still couldn't show weakness, because Ryan was guessing he couldn't outrun him either. The way you held your own with anyone dangerous, which Ryan was very good at, having to learn it from a young age, was to first off show no weakness. There was more to it, depending on how you wanted to play the person and the situation, but it started with that. 

"Hey, man. I'm just waiting on the train." Miguel held his hands out, casually illustrating how he was still just sitting innocently on the bench. Unnaturally still when he wasn't purposefully moving. 

"You haven't been like this long, have you?" Ryan theorized. It was part of what made him seem lost, but only part of it because there was clearly more there, lurking in those fathomless brown eyes. They'd probably looked like that even when he was human, if Ryan had to guess. 

Miguel didn't seem like he knew what to do with himself. Where he belonged. And Ryan got another gut feeling that possibly, that wasn't entirely new to the man. He was maybe just even more starkly aware now that he was cut loose of any daily human grind. 

He could be off in his assessment, because of being exhausted and a little fucked up and all, but this at least seemed to be mostly clear. 

"You're smart, aren't you? Like real fucking clever. I mean, when you're not all fucked up, I'm guessing." Miguel was observing him, too, as he confirmed Ryan's assessment without actually answering him. "I bet you'd know what to do if you woke up fucking starving and dead. Or you know, you'd figure it out real fucking fast." 

"You seem to have figured out the important shit." Ryan gave him that much credit. He may have seemed lost and starving in some existential way or some shit, but in cold hard reality -- Miguel didn't look ragged, or _literally_ starving, or dirty. Beyond the sleeveless in fall bullshit, he did mostly blend, even with the thin scar on his face offering a clue to everything under the surface if you knew how to look. 

"Sure. I ain't hungry. Got a roof for now." Miguel stated the essentials, clueing Ryan in that apparently he wasn't looking for a place to crash. He bathed and had a car, so it followed that he was most likely staying somewhere. "But I did just follow a fucked up Irish boy home for no reason. So maybe -- yeah, maybe I've still got some of that shit to figure out." 

Yeah, Miguel might just be realizing that, but Ryan had picked that up already. 

"How do you know I'm Irish?" Asshole had called him a mick earlier, too. It's not like Ryan had a fucking brogue. He was from here, not there. 

"If your last name was any more fucking Irish you'd be a damn leprechaun, for one thing." Miguel pointed towards him, at Ryan's hand, probably. "Plus that right there? My guess? Also a fucking gang tat, man. I know what a shamrock looks like -- I'm a dead Latino, not an ignorant motherfucker." 

Didn't just know Ryan's first name, either, apparently. Had they crossed paths? Ryan probably would've remembered this guy. Ryan dealt with any number of scumbags and members of other gangs, but this guy sort of stood out. 

Ryan walked over to collapse next to the insane vampire waiting for the train. The lost vampire. Man. Whatever. "You're not following me home to find out where I live." 

Miguel's derisive snort jostled his side. "I'm gonna go ahead and assume that when your ass is sober you're aware you have a fucking wallet, with like, an ID and shit. You were passed out. I already know where you live. How did you think I knew which train to take?" 

For someone who didn't seem to know what the fuck to do with eternal life or whatever, the man did make a lot of good points. Yep -- lost, not dumb. 

"Did you rob me?" Figured he'd ask before searching for his wallet. Test the man's honesty some, maybe. 

He didn't seem offended by the question, answering like it was nothing but understandable. "Nope. Didn't need the cash right now. I've got enough to ride or hide in the subway. Needed to eat. Not like that means buying Doritos any more." 

Ah, right. Made sense. Sort of. Ryan still thought it would've been smarter to also rob your food, since you were already committing assault. Something else clicked into place, a little more sluggishly like everything else. 

"You got my name off my license." 

"Mm-hm." Miguel nodded ever so slightly, matching his smirk. 

"You don't have psychic fucking powers." 

"I don't know, I can be pretty charming." Miguel's smirk grew brighter, showing teeth, with his shrug that was the complete fucking opposite of self-deprecating. 

Ryan patted himself down and yeah, his wallet was where he'd left it. Still had everything in it. Shit, even his baggie of illicit substances and his flask were still in his jacket. Miguel had even left the cold hard reassurance of Ryan's gun on him after frisking him. (He hadn't taken it until later, when Ryan had pulled it on him.) Ryan didn't leave, though. 

Something insane, seemingly interested in him, and really fucking powerful, had just landed right in Ryan's lap. (Pretty fucking literally for a moment there.)

Letting it wander off into the night to never be seen again didn't seem the wisest choice. Dangerous to chase after, yes, but plenty of useful things were incredibly dangerous. That's generally what _made_ them useful. Ryan never shied away from using what was available to him, no matter how deadly. 

Miguel glanced at him, sideways and curious still, with something in his eyes that looked like his low laughter had sounded earlier. "You're gonna follow my ass right back to where I'm crashing instead, aren't you?" 

It didn't sound like he was objecting or lodging any complaint. Not at all. 

"How the fuck would I explain this to Shannon?" Ryan gestured to his neck with his quick excuse. He couldn't really see the wound, beyond spotting some blood on his skin out of the corner of his eye when he tried earlier, but it _felt_ like it looked fucking wonderful. Though the blood seemed to be gone now. Thanks to Miguel's fucking tongue, probably.

Shannon wasn't really the reason he was tagging along, but she'd do in a pinch. Couldn't exactly tell the guy he was thinking about how useful a vampire would be to have on his side, and he just wasn't ready to let a possible opportunity slip away yet. Besides, Ryan was sort of worried about more than one type of safety. Home wouldn't be very welcoming at the moment. Also, what if the guy had taken too much blood and Ryan was halfway to dead, but just like too full of light-headed buzz to realize it? If he stumbled into a hospital with the shit he had in his system, on fucking parole, he'd end up in cuffs. 

"If this is your regular Sunday night? I have a feeling you spend a lot of time _explaining shit to Shannon_." Miguel theorized, amused like he was poking at a bruise. "I'm sure you'd manage. Ain't touching your wife. I swear." 

"Yeah, you seem real trustworthy." Ryan's eye roll probably made his sarcasm seem less harsh. 

"You're alive, aren't you?" Miguel replied, still seeming entertained. 

He was indeed alive. Miguel still didn't appear interested in killing him. (Any more.) And what if he did fucking pass out from booze, narcotics, and blood loss? Maybe Miguel had some sort of vampire trick to keep his ass alive if that happened. He seemed just peachy with keeping Ryan alive. 

Ryan wasn't entirely thinking about safety at all, for once in his life. He was thinking of the brother who usually would've stumbled out of that bar much earlier in the night, with one of that girl's friends at his side. The brother who would've stopped a fucking vampire from snacking on Ryan in the first place, because he was the one who fought Ryan's physical fights for him, while Ryan's mind protected them both in other ways. 

He was thinking of beeping machines, and antiseptic smells. And how he was stuck riding the fucking subway, due to fucking Aunt Brenda commandeering his car when she had come into the city. Not to use it to visit Cyril in the fucking hospital like she fucking pretended to come back for, but to drive to church and little errands. _Real fucking helpful as always, with the useless praying and not doing dick to fix anything, you old bitch._

Ryan didn't want to go home and fight. (Or cry.) 

Boys don't cry. They get wasted and laid. And chase oblivion. 

They follow insane fucking dangerous hallucinations home, neon warning signs flashing and all. 

Dangerous hallucinations who were probably _immortal._ Immune to traumatic injury, beeping machines, and death. Or at least more capable of sloughing it off than the O'Reily's were. 

Maybe that's what he was following home. 

Follow it Ryan did, when Miguel stood, before Ryan even heard the train coming.

Miguel let him, still throwing watchful glances back at him, in case he like stumbled or some shit maybe. Same trip, in reverse. Miguel didn't ask him for anything this time. Stared ahead, instead of at Ryan. But Ryan sat pressed right against his side again, and Miguel didn't stop that, either. 

They ended up right back at their original stop, leaving the train together again. Miguel casting an eye back to Ryan yet again, Ryan always watching him. 

"Well, that was fucking pointless." Miguel observed wryly, talking about their little cyclical joy ride. 

"Why are you complaining? Don't you have eternity to fill?" Ryan countered, watching it bring another hint of a grin back to Miguel's face. 

Ryan followed him back up out of the subway, into the fresher air, less light emitting from broken and struggling streetlights placed farther apart than they should've been to keep things lit up and safe. There weren't many windows lit up in the tall old apartment-filled buildings. Miguel clearly knew exactly where he was going, loping down the empty street like he owned it. 

It was a minute before they saw any other suspicious souls roaming the late night. They were approaching a clump of... yep, more gangbangers, if Ryan had to guess. It's not exactly like schoolteachers and accountants were out at this hour, in this area. They were in front of a little neighborhood convenience store which surprisingly looked open still. 

This was another thing Ryan could figure out, though. Wasn't that different from his part of town and his gang. That store was probably open still because those guys wanted it open. Maybe they had an actual deal with the owner and ran some dirty money through it, and it being kept open was part of the arrangement so they could get their late night high cheeto fix or something. Or maybe they just threatened the uninvolved owner into staying open late because they wanted those cheetos or whatever when they kept strange hours. 

For the first time, Miguel seemed a little wary. Not afraid, because the fucker had made it clear he wasn't afraid of physical harm anymore, but uncomfortable. 

He kept walking, though, even picking up the pace with his customary glance back at Ryan to make sure he was keeping up. "Need to hit the bodega, hermano. C'mon. S'gonna close." 

They weren't close enough to the guys to be overheard yet. 

"You suddenly realize you're out of stale corn chips and milk or something? Can you even eat?" Ryan never turned down an opportunity to gain more information, to get a better view of his situation. 

"Nah. Haven't wanted to. Doesn't smell appetizing." Miguel answered with a shake of his head. "But your hungover ass is going to need sustenance tomorrow, and I don't have any food at my place." 

It was a good sign that Ryan wasn't wrong about Miguel preferring him alive enough for it to be safe to follow him back to said place. You didn't bother shopping for someone whose throat you were going to rip out before morning. Generally, if that were your plan, providing food for them was something that wouldn't even occur to you. 

Those were not friendly looks they were receiving from the guys near the store as they approached, and they were not targeted at Ryan, who as an outsider would usually be getting them. 

The small crew was too nervous to be overtly hostile. Afraid. They were afraid of Miguel, but too tough to show it. So they tensed, and twitched away, shooting narrow looks and low words. Ryan couldn't follow the rapid Spanish, not hearing any of the nastier terms he was familiar with, but he could tell it still wasn't the warmest welcome. 

"What's up, Reynaldo?" Miguel greeted, with an interesting look of his own. Challenging, and almost accusatory. 

Hurt. Miguel was hurt, Ryan would guess. He was hiding it, too, behind confident swagger and an almost taunting tone. But Ryan had observed enough throughout the night to realize -- these had most likely been Miguel's boys, and some of the pain in his eyes was due to them being scared of him now and edging away from him. 

More muttering and twitching, as the guys walked further away, keeping a careful eye on Miguel. Shit, they weren't even really paying attention to Ryan, beyond clocking his presence. 

The one that Miguel was staring at hardest (must've been the closest, the one that meant the most) finally nodded towards Ryan even though his words were for Miguel. 

"You bringing your new friends around? Shouldn't do that, hermano. This block is full. Don't need newcomers." 

Well, that was a threat if Ryan ever heard one. Still cautious and shaky, like it was taking all this guy's nerve to stand up to Miguel, but he was trying to sound hard nonetheless. 

If Ryan had to guess? These assholes knew what Miguel was, or knew enough at least. 

"Nah, just a drunk asshole. Getting him food. Don't have none at my place. His ass will be gone in the morning." Miguel explained, but his stare seemed pretty unmovable on the subject. He wasn't backing down. 

And yeah, they definitely knew. Didn't want any more monsters coming to town, it seemed. They also possibly now thought Ryan was clueless dinner and Miguel was going to kill him, but oh well. At least they didn't see him as a threat. 

"That's for the best, Miguel." 

"Yeah, yeah. You want what's best for me. Right, Rey?" Miguel raised an eyebrow before exhaling a scornful breath and turning his back on them. "C'mon, man. His ass is about to close up shop." 

Ryan followed him in with the little bells above the door chiming to announce their entrance. He kept an eye cast outside the cluttered, smudged windows long enough to make sure Miguel's former buddies were moving off into the night. 

He was still paying enough attention to the inside of the place to see the owner freeze up when he saw Miguel. This old guy's fear was a lot more visible, what with him making a hurried sign of the cross and the rapid whispering. It might be Spanish, but Ryan could recognize a prayer when he heard one, shitty Catholic upbringing and all. 

Ryan was starting to understand the cause of that dark inward brooding gaze a lot more, especially since it made another appearance. Bitterness joined it this time, too, like it had with his boys. 

"Just here for supplies, amigo. Only be a second." Miguel tossed off firmly behind him as he moved down an aisle. He turned his head briefly towards Ryan. "Grab whatever your mick ass eats when you're hungover, but you're paying for it." 

Ryan grabbed a couple things that looked like they might soak up what was sure to be lots of stomach acid and pain in the morning, without making him vomit. (He might've had some experience with what he could handle and what he couldn't after a rough night.) 

Miguel, however, came back perplexingly loaded down for someone who just said he didn't eat. Ryan watched Miguel set his burdens on the counter. 

Advil. Well, that was thoughtful. Ryan sort of hadn't considered that. His brain was a little fucking taxed at the moment, though. 

Gatorade. Also probably aimed at being replenishing for him. 

Antiseptic, bandages, etc. Made sense. Still weirdly kind and thoughtful, though. 

The old guy behind the counter started eyeing Ryan's neck. Miguel had apparently _licked_ all the blood off, given what he'd said earlier, but Ryan was sure there was still a nasty wound there. 

Miguel paused to stare down the nosy owner. "He fell." His voice was as cold as his skin for once, hard and unyielding. 

Yeah, maybe his old boys, and this guy who owned their favored bodega, knew something about Miguel, but it was clear they knew better than to share that information. 

"Yeah, I'm real clumsy." Ryan chimed in with the fuck-off I-ain't-telling-you-dick smirking tone he maybe tended to use with cops and other authority figures. 

The guy looked down and started ringing them up. Smart man. 

Then it got even stranger as Miguel finished setting down his haul... super glue, orange juice, and -- were those fucking cookies? Like two different kinds? 

"Are you high?" Ryan asked incredulously. The second it he said it, he figured Miguel probably wasn't, but the taunt had just come out. Given that he couldn't figure out the why behind those choices, he'd had to say _something_. 

"Nope." Miguel answered succinctly, like he suddenly found joy in being uninformative for once. 

Ryan followed Miguel, out of the store and down another street. Vampire strength got to hold the bag, Ryan had insisted. Ryan was starting to come down faster, and really feel how he'd been tossed around and _sucked on_ earlier. 

His mind was sharper, but fucking unfortunately, his head hurt more, along with everything else. 

"So you still eat cookies? Those are the exception?" Ryan asked in disbelief. 

"Nah, man. They're for you. I never had to do the blood for cash thing to make ends meet when I was breathing, but I knew people who did. Pretty sure juice and cookies are good for you after donating blood?" He sounded like he was less than sure, actually. "Couldn't hurt." 

Well, that was... almost fucking _sweet_. Jesus. Was his lonely half-fag vampire looking for a girlfriend or something? 

"I think you're thinking of naptime in kindergarten. Plus, I didn't donate. You took." Ryan pointed out. "You planning on taking more?" 

Miguel merely shook his head in the negative, never losing a step. Ryan saw it as a decent sign of honesty. "Don't think I can without fucking you up. Can only take so much, you know? Donating folks have to wait a while at least." Miguel threw another little glance, with another little half-smile at him, sharper this time. "If I show up on your doorstep next fucking month, then maybe worry. You're safe for now." 

Ryan laughed, and it only came out a little dark. "Yeah, you're safe as fucking houses, man." 

"Hey, I left your ass just fine at your stop." Miguel reminded him, swinging the bag as he walked and lazily pointing at Ryan with the other hand. "You're the one back here with me. Now come on if you're coming. That sunlight bullshit? That's real. And I want to get indoors." 

Ryan wondered if Miguel knew why he was following him. It really was hard to read his sometimes stonily calm expression. It didn't really appear that Miguel cared, though. It was like he was fine with Ryan just coming to float along aimlessly beside him, shrugging it off with everything else. 

The basement apartment Miguel led him down the outside steps to made sense. He had a key, but it was loose. Just the one key, no ring, pulled out of his pocket. Probably hadn't been his place when he'd been breathing. There were boards over the small slit windows that would've only shown feet on the streets. It was barren inside except for furniture that was too large and cheap to be moved in a hurry. Yeah, Ryan had been right. This was definitely not where Miguel had lived, when he had _lived_.

"Love what you've done with the place." Ryan remarked, following Miguel to the disused and empty looking kitchen that was a straight shot from the door. Wasn't a toaster, microwave, or a coffeemaker in sight. The place had been stripped and a bloodsucker had seen no need to stock back up on essentials. 

"Ain't mine. Owner's dead. Haven't shut off the utilities yet. Got until the end of the month, I figure." Miguel casually explained, setting the bag down on all that empty counter space. 

He had no problem turning his back on Ryan, and he never got too close on his own since they'd sat pressed together on the subway. Unless Ryan stumbled. Then he had appeared offering a hand and a shoulder, like it was automatic for him. Ryan was the one who kept closing the distance between them, leaning his back against the counter next to Miguel, able to see his face again. 

Except for the fucking kissing, of course. That had been all Miguel, the lonely vampire who was apparently exploring his sexuality while he wandered the night without purpose. 

Ryan was never mixing that shit he'd taken with whiskey again. Fucking ever. 

"You killed somebody for this dump? Maybe you aren't clever. Why not a fucking penthouse?" Ryan mused, letting Miguel casually unpack the bag beside him. 

Miguel stopped to shoot him a look. "First off, genius, maybe I'm wrong and you are stupid -- people notice when rich assholes go missing." He had a point, as did the slightly mocking judgment on his face. But he returned to unpacking his perplexing glue and cookies, setting them haphazardly on the counter. He kept his eyes off of Ryan and downcast as he continued. "Second, I didn't kill him. Used to run with him. He fell in the fight, and he didn't wake back up like I did. Knew the place would be empty for a bit after they cleared out the shit worth taking. I just chased off the fiends looking for a new crash pad, and my old hermanos are leaving me alone so far." 

Alone. He said that a lot, or variations of it, things hinting at it. And every time he did, no matter the context, his voice sounded as deep as his gaze. Ryan noticed, even with Miguel avoiding his eyes this time. 

Miguel moved to the fridge, holding the OJ, and Ryan stayed right behind him. 

He could see the bulge of his gun, right there, still tucked in Miguel's waistband. But he didn't think he'd need it. 

Fuck it. 

He was sobering up, after all. He could move as fast as he was going to be able to. Miguel tensed as Ryan's hand slipped right under his shirt, grazing skin that was a little too cold on his path. The gun was still colder, in his hand now. Miguel half-turned, but merely watched him. 

Didn't even drop the juice. 

Ryan didn't stop, letting his movement flow as smoothly as it could at the moment, tucking the gun right back into his own waistband. Wanted to make it clear he wasn't making an actual threatening move, merely reclaiming his only meager defense. 

Miguel almost smirked again. A twitch of his lips. But he just turned right back to open the fridge, like he was fine with Ryan's action. He probably understood it. 

"I thought you said you didn't have any food? Were you just real concerned about supporting your local business with our little shopping trip, there?" Ryan asked as he saw the contents of the fridge. 

There wasn't a hell of a lot. Ryan recognized ketchup, hot sauce, beer, distinct Chinese takeout containers, a pizza box, and various other plain white styrofoam containers from other joints probably. That was it. 

Miguel put the OJ away, gesturing for Ryan to hand him the Gatorade next. "Honestly, man? Never checked in here. Knew the cupboards were bare. Just fucking assumed. Don't eat any of that shit unless you want to add food poisoning to your list of complaints." 

"Fuck you, I'm not fucking whining and complaining." Ryan said it casually, handing over the Gatorade. He was inwardly relieved Miguel took him snatching his gun back so well, but he didn't show it. "Even though your ass has given me plenty of reasons to." He turned his attention back to the food. "Why? Can you smell that it's rotten or something?" 

"No -- well, yeah. But don't need to. Dude's been dead for like three weeks and I ain't ordering takeout." Miguel explained reasonably, hesitating before closing the door to gesture to one thing inside. "Beer's probably fine." 

Ryan waved him off, and Miguel shut the door on the dead man's last meals. He was definitely not fucking drinking anything else. "So you can't even drink?" 

"Nope. I mean -- I can. But it doesn't do shit but taste awful and make me have to piss again." The way he said it made Ryan surmise he generally no longer had to piss. They flowed right back over to their supplies, moving easily together. Ryan was good at that, though, slipping right into a close rhythm. "I could taste the booze and drugs swimming in you, actually. Tasted better there now. Kinda liked it." 

"Fuck." Ryan exhaled, leaning back against the counter and not bothering to hide his slight displeasure. "You're welcome? Asshole." 

"Didn't get a buzz from it, though." Miguel merely slouched right next to him for a second. Not close enough to brush against him, but pausing in his unpacking. 

Miguel didn't give the words any weight, but Ryan had enough experience with drug use and drug users. He had a sense for it. He was willing to bet Miguel had been very fucking fond of messing around with those substances when he'd been alive. It was another little piece of the puzzle, possibly. What the fuck _did_ you do when your highs didn't get you high any more, didn't offer any distraction or escape, and there was no next level to chase? 

Wander the night following anyone who looked halfway interesting? Lick motherfuckers on the subway, and beg to kiss them, possibly. Sex was probably a high Miguel hadn't lost access to. 

Miguel turned to fish the antiseptic, bandages, cotton balls, and weirdly the super glue out of the bag. He handed them to Ryan. 

"Here. Bathroom's through there." He indicated a door on the right, off the kitchen. Wasn't much choice. One door next to it, and the rest of the dump was just the small open kitchen and living room. "Need to take care of that." 

_That_ clearly meant Ryan's fucking _vampire bite_ , and Miguel didn't really need to even specify it. Ryan shook the super glue at him in askance. 

"If you think it needs stitches -- just glue it for now, man. Should be fine. Clean it first, though." Miguel instructed seriously, sounding like he gave a fuck if Ryan healed up properly. Ryan had already figured out the 'giving a fuck' part from their little impromptu shopping trip, of course. 

"So, you just bite people, lick 'em clean, and put fucking super glue in the wounds before you leave?" Ryan inquired with mild amusement. 

"Nah. Never hung around before." Miguel admitted, leaning back against the counter now that he was done unpacking. Wasn't going to bother putting shit away, apparently. "The ones I left alive, I assume they're fine. Got medical attention, probably." Miguel turned his thoughtful and inquisitive gaze on Ryan in a different way this time, expression sparking with the joy of having something figured out, maybe. "You, however -- no way you're legally carrying that piece. Plus your baggie of fun. Don't strike me as the hospital type." 

What do you know? While Ryan had been gathering information on Miguel, Miguel had possibly been doing the same. And he was clever enough to put pieces of it together. 

"That assumption would be correct." 

"I can do it." Miguel offered genuinely, gesturing to Ryan's neck. "I mean, I never patched a bite before, but my boys have gotten banged up. So have I back when it stuck. Know how to look after basic cuts and shit." 

"So do I." Ryan had learned that shit long before he'd joined a gang. It was another necessary lesson that came with his happy fucking home life, where injuries happened, but hospital visits that would raise eyebrows didn't. 

"Didn't know the super glue trick, though, did you?" Miguel asked, amused by his own superior knowledge for a moment. Asshole even winked at him, before going back to his fucking shrugging. "Figured you'd want to do it yourself. Seem to get pissy when I touch you." 

"Gee, I wonder why." Ryan sneered a little over his shoulder, but it was as tired as he was. Miguel didn't follow him to the bathroom, and didn't object when Ryan shut the door to keep him out. 

Ryan got one pleasant surprise tonight at least -- the bathroom was basically clean and didn't smell like much of anything but soap. He leaned into the sink counter, towards the mirror, trying to scope the damage to his neck for the first time. 

Well. The fucking pain made sense. That was not a hickey. Wasn't as bad as he'd feared, though. Yeah, there was broken skin much deeper than a papercut, and a definite torn, swollen wound. But it didn't look like he'd been mauled by a large dog or anything. Nipped by a pissy terrier, maybe. Miguel _had_ licked the blood off, it seemed, but it was -- Jesus -- oozing. There was a tiny amount of oozing as his flesh tried to get its shit together and start healing. 

Probably didn't even need the glue, though. Wasn't that deep and shredded. He hissed as he probed it with his fingers. He wondered if Miguel was lurking right outside the door. 

"Come in here for a second." Ryan called out. 

Miguel was immediately there, although he had opened the door carefully. Probably trying to be nice and not whack Ryan with it with his fucking vampire speed. 

Miguel indeed listened to him, and Ryan filed that away. Could be guilt. Could be fascination and hunger. Miguel had been in a gang, though, Ryan had gleaned that much. That meant he knew how to follow, most likely. 

"Need help, man?" Miguel asked as he slid in next to Ryan and shut the door behind him. 

Also, he was helpful. At the moment, at least. 

Ryan's gaze flicked to the mirror, which did indeed show both of them in it. Including Miguel's small grin. 

"You're checking to see if I've got a reflection, ain't you, baby?" 

Ryan shrugged. Of course he was. Who wouldn't? "Think you can patch me up without getting the urge to snack?" 

Miguel scoffed. "I'll manage." 

Ryan let amused disbelief show, but honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if Miguel actually could. "Really? How many times have you licked me tonight? My lip is still fucking sore from that nip of yours. You didn't tell me you only wanted to kiss me so you could fucking bite me again."

Ryan pushed down thoughts of how the kiss had felt, keeping focused. His lip wasn't that sore, really. He was pretty sure Miguel had just nicked the inside of his bottom lip with a fang, the tiniest slice.

"Not why I wanted to kiss you. Just happened." Miguel's shrug was possibly one of apology this time, as he hopped up onto the counter in front of Ryan. "Only took a taste. C'mere." 

Ryan hadn't actually gone anywhere, only backing up enough to not get kicked by Miguel's sneakers as he had settled on the counter, one leg on either side of Ryan. Ryan had moved right back in close afterwards. 

Miguel managed to grab a washcloth, wet it and get it soapy, even though the sink was behind his ass now. 

Ryan exhaled through the pain as the rough warm wet cloth dragged over the wound. Miguel was actually trying to be gentle, though. Ryan noted that, too. 

"Antiseptic." Miguel prompted, as the washcloth plopped back into the sink behind him. He was already opening the small pack of cotton balls. 

Ryan couldn't hold back his hiss at the sting of Miguel dabbing at his neck, however carefully. 

"Almost done." Miguel was true to his word, tossing the cotton ball into the trash before leaning even closer. Miguel's sharp featured, serious face, his colder and more fit frame was practically touching Ryan, but not. Cold breath blew over his neck. Miguel was actually trying to soothe the sting, out of fucking nowhere. Without a word. Ryan didn't shiver, but his eyes did flutter closed. Didn't really matter. Miguel could've gotten the drop on him, eyes closed or not. 

Yeah, Miguel was being awfully sweet and gentle for someone so dangerous. He definitely wasn't just a fucking ruthless predator, alive or dead. And he didn't want to harm Ryan at the moment. 

Clearly fucking wanted Ryan, though. In some way. 

Miguel stayed steady and gentle, his touch and his dark watchful eyes, all through ointment and a carefully placed bandage. Ryan watched, and moved with him, filing it all away. Might've been part of the reason he'd asked for help he didn't really need. Wanted to know how Miguel would handle it. 

Strangely well, Ryan noticed. He wasn't twitchy or eyeballing Ryan like his fangs were itching. He stayed concerned and careful the whole time. Motherfucker was strange in quite a few ways, it was turning out. 

Ryan was patched up before long, by his fucking vampire nurse. He moved back when Miguel hopped off the counter, leaving without being asked. 

There was only one piece of furniture left in the dead guy's living room. Ryan's neck felt a little better, sort of. Mostly just clean and taken care of enough that he could ignore it as his high ebbed away even further, exhaustion deepening in its place. Ryan just laid the fuck down on the faded and worn-nubby brownish couch that smelled like smoke. Of both varieties. His legs went over the other armrest as he tucked the lone lumpy throw pillow that remained under his head. 

Cookies dropped onto his stomach. 

Two varieties. 

"Where's my juice, nurse?" Ryan smirked, contemplating the bags rather than ripping into them. 

He heard Miguel's movement because of the raspy chuckle that got further away. A pathetic generic 'I Heart New York' coffee mug appeared in front of his face after a couple minutes, dragging him up out of his sprawl a little. Didn't know how that shit would sit on his stomach, but he was still fucking thirsty. 

Miguel casually leaned against the wall near Ryan's feet. There wasn't a table or anything, so Ryan set the empty mug wobbling on the carpet. Propped it between the fucking cookies, which he wasn't eating. He leaned back and let his heavy lids fall half-closed. Only half, though. 

"You aren't afraid of me anymore." Miguel was quietly watching him again, always curious but much harder to kill than a cat. 

This was mostly true. Ryan generally turned his fears into practical wariness, into plans. Being fucking terrified wasn't exactly helpful. And Miguel had been acting practically benign, compared to some of the motherfuckers in Ryan's world, since the whole licking thing. Ryan had no reasonable expectations of Miguel suddenly wanting to bury fangs back in him and off him. It was the opposite -- Miguel was _taking care of him._

Real life horror movie monster aside -- Ryan had dealt with far scarier things. His whole life, as far as he could remember. 

"I grew up under the roof of a baby-killing monster." It just slipped out, which didn't happen often for him. He had a silver tongue, not a loose one. (Unless talking served a helpful purpose.) A secret he'd never let slip before, tumbling out into the strange new world. But yeah, he'd known worse monsters. Ryan's reckless exhaustion became a long sigh, bringing his voice down with it. "Takes more than a lonely gangbanger who wants to suck on me to scare me." 

"Shit, man. That sucks." Miguel didn't move, staying against the wall, posture loose and companionable. But something about his eyes made it seem like he was moving closer. The words may have been short and rough, but they weren't flippant. "Your shitty childhood, I mean. Don't care if you're not scared of me. I don't have to care, anymore, you know?" Miguel clarified, seeming thoughtful again. "Don't have a gang any more either." Miguel's voice was just as quiet and dark. 

_Alone._

Learning those who'd always been by your side weren't going to be there anymore... 

Fuck. This shit? This is why Ryan had fucked off into the night to drink, and swallow pills, to swallow everything down with brown eyes and beautiful curves in the first place. 

"You brood too fucking much. You won't survive, Anne Rice." Ryan advised, not that taking his own advice had worked out very well for him that night. 

Or maybe it had. This was certainly fucking different than the reality he'd left behind in a hospital bed. 

Miguel managed to somehow scoff with just his expression, rather than his voice. "Yeah, well, you get shit-faced and follow women into 'hoods where you stick out like a sore thumb. And you follow monsters home, so I don't know how bright your future looks there either, Lucky Charms." 

"What?!" Ryan sat up a little, eyes opening further. It was a response to the insulting and unoriginal nickname, rather than the... probably accurate assessment. 

Cyril wasn't going to survive their life either. At least not whole, if at all. 

"Shamrock. Clover, same difference." Miguel stated in explanation. Then he tilted his head, pretending to be curious. His smirk said he was still just taking the piss, though. "You got some little moons and rainbows somewhere, too?" 

"Why, you want to lick them?" Ryan sneered a little, but he probably still shouldn't have said that shit. This motherfucker? He was probably going to lean into it. 

Miguel took a beat, like he was considering which way he wanted to go with his reaction, maybe. 

Despite knowing the fucker for an hour or two probably, Ryan was somehow not surprised when Miguel chose the smallest sly smile, posture leaning back as his hand slid under his shirt to run over his own abs. At least the motion seemed more like an idle unconscious gesture, not part of a come-on. 

"Maybe." 

"Jesus." Ryan's eyes fluttered closed, because _what the fuck._

It did seem like it wasn't all tease, though. Ryan was pretty sure Miguel didn't know the actual answer either. 

"Still ain't here, Ryan. I mean, you can try calling for him again. Maybe third time's the charm." It was the most mocking helpful suggestion Ryan had ever heard, and he had a smart ass brother. 

(Had?) 

Miguel, whatever hidden depths of like sadness or regret might hide in his gangbanging vampire eyes, did still really enjoy fucking with people, it seemed. It was the most joy Ryan had seen out of him all night, when he said shit like that. 

Ryan changed the subject, because this guy? He didn't seem stupid, but he could also be handling this undead bullshit better, clearly. 

"You're no genius, either, you know. In this kind of neighborhood? You usually would've had until more than the end of the month. Unless the neighbors get nervous and twitchy, like they fucking are here. You should vacate much sooner." For one thing, things clearly weren't exactly copacetic with his former boys, not long term anyway. Ryan may not have been able to scheme his way out of his own problems the last couple of days, but this shit? This he could see and figure out. Might as well inform his weird hungry caretaker, as like a public service or something. "Find another crap couple of blocks like this, but where nobody knows your story. Find or make another dead guy that nobody gives two fucks about. Some places? Nobody cares which dead guy's name is on the lease as long as the money flows. Hell, just shove a fucking envelope of cash under the Super's door at night with a note to make sure the lights stay on -- and you've got more than a month. Cash shouldn't be a problem. If you can eat people, you can rob them. And you should do both at the same time by the way, moron. If bullets can't stop you, cops don't seem like a reasonable concern." 

"See? Knew you'd be fine if this shit happened to you." Miguel's smile grew a little as he continued to regard Ryan. 

Ryan watched him warily, something else curling in his gut this time. Felt just enough like old instinct and suspicion, though. "Am I going to wake up dead, Miguel?" It wasn't as moronic as it sounded. He didn't mean _dead_ dead. He meant whatever Miguel was. 

Another fucking shrug, shoulders dragging casually against the wall. "Hadn't planned on it." 

The answer seemed completely honest, like it wasn't the kind of thing Miguel would've hidden. But Miguel hadn't appeared to actually have planned much of anything beyond acquiring the food, shower, and roof parts of his new undead life, so that wasn't exactly an answer, or comforting in any way. 

Or maybe it was, depending on why Ryan had really followed him home. His own motives weren't usually murky to his own mind, but he couldn't always see them as well as he could other people's. His own shit got in the way sometimes, rushing blood and old resentments, fears and addictions. That fucking forest was harder to see when you were standing in the trees, even for him. 

Now more than ever. 

Miguel moved, fast, smooth, and quiet, into a crouch besides the couch. Finally closing the distance between them himself again, to put his face inches from Ryan's. Those big brown eyes didn't look any less lost or hungry up close. 

Miguel still sounded casual, though, no more menacing or predatory than he probably had been in life. "You're the one that followed me home." 

He was. 

What was he chasing? 

Might be time to burn down those trees and see. 

***  
End

**Author's Note:**

> Spanish badly translated by google: 
> 
> Lo siento, pero detente. = I'm sorry, but stop. 
> 
> ¡joder! = wikipedia told me it was similar to exclaiming "fuck!" (Seriously, I unfortunately do not speak Spanish. If you do, and would like to correct me or offer a substitute, please feel free.) 
> 
> Notes: I cheated not just with the unrealistic subway, but also with Alvarez's scar. While I do think he could deal very poorly at first with being turned, and he could self-harm in response -- his crime didn't occur, so there's no clear reason for him to slash his face that exact way here. He probably would've just slashed his own throat. But I like the face scar, so for now it stays. I am torn on changing it to a throat scar, though.
> 
> This also weirdly owes a lot to the Mortal Instruments book series by Cassandra Clare, since my brain basically said if Miguel was going to end up a vampire, it probably went down a lot like it did for Raphael. Even though I didn't specify what actually happened to Alvarez here, the backstory which exists in my head is pretty much stolen from there. (From my poor memory:  
> Raphael and his friends went after a vampire nest that had set up in their neighborhood, armed with guns and knives blessed by a priest, to protect their community because police couldn't help them. It went poorly. He was turned and never made it home.) Also, I think that's why the subway is here, heh. 
> 
> I have several other unfinished series/fics I am working on. They are (hopefully) less dumb than this. They are still being written. But I love spooky season, and vampires. I couldn't resist. Hey, at least I didn't hearken back to my Buffy days and make Alvarez purr like a big vampire kitty. (Not because I didn't _want_ to, by the way. He just doesn't have occasion to here.)


End file.
